


Roman Numerals

by notebookthief



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Relationship Study, theres a couple other characters mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebookthief/pseuds/notebookthief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study of the progression from rivals to friends to lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roman Numerals

**Author's Note:**

> first of all.... i would like to apologize.... i havent been posting bc uni (u kno how it is) and mental health and here i am not updating anything ongoing. originally this was supposed to be a gift for a friend but i ran out of steam.... i got it back like tonight tho so here it is. sorry that the ending is kinda rushed... but whatever anyways i hope u enjoy!!

i. it starts in the sun 

Daichi is focused, is always focused before a match. He doesn’t let his mind wander from the game ahead of them. He breathes, holds a ball in his hands, reassures himself of their strengths and goes over how he can help cover their weaknesses. Suga gives him a reassuring smile and slap on the back. He passes it on to Asahi. It’s routine. 

The drive to win has made a spot for itself in his chest, but more than that is the desire to learn and experience what he hopes only Nekoma can give them. His excitement swirls in his belly at the prospect of meeting their so-called fated rivals. His body is made up of twists and pirouettes of emotion he doesn’t dare give away on his face. 

When he first lays eyes on Kuroo Tetsurou, everything smooths out. 

It isn’t something he notices at first. His eyes catch the other captain’s, and he finds the flicker of pride and want his own hold; he finds the specks of mischief he does not reciprocate. His handshake is firm and steady. He looks up into his smiling, cutting face and thinks 

_The lighting doesn’t suit him._

It is the last non-volleyball thought he has the entire match. His stomach twists back to its previous shape the moment their hands stop touching, and Daichi moves on. 

He doesn’t think about crescent eyes or ill-fitting lighting until he’s half asleep on the way home.  


ii. tip of the tongue

Kuroo is a word he can’t get off his tongue to actually speak. It’s a feeling that lasts all through training camp; every interaction is slightly stilted, off-kilter, the slightest bit unbalanced. There is a constant, vague awareness that each word, each casual touch could be something different. Daichi pushes it away and focuses on the burn in his lungs and his muscles and the racing of his mind. 

Sometimes, when he has space to breathe, he ponders it. He compares it to other interactions with other captains, other players. Somehow, it always circles back to thoughts of Kuroo, just before he’s pulled back into the game, the burn, the focus. 

By the last third of the camp Daichi starts wondering why he’s so focused on him. He justifies it with facts like he’s another captain, a direct rival. The first person from the camp he met. His playing style. It all works, but it doesn’t fit. Reasonable, but not the truth. 

It’s not until he catches Kuroo’s panting form through the doorway to one of the gyms, head tilted back to guzzle water, that it shifts into place. He watches the sweat slide down his neck, watches him run a towel over his face, finds too many details about him but not enough to satisfy. And he gets it. 

Kuroo turns his head and catches him. Daichi steps inside the doorway. 

“You free to do a little extra practice?” he calls. Kuroo’s grin flashes under the fluorescent lights. 

“Sure.” 

iii. the beginning of tokyo

“Captain’s meetings” are technically supposed to be him, Kuroo and Bokuto meeting up monthly to discuss strategy, tips, team gossip and the like. They usually end up having Daichi keep them all out of trouble, which is especially hard in an unforgiving, unfamiliar city like Tokyo. 

It’s not as bad as Daichi claims it to be, if he’s being honest. Kuroo is aware of Daichi’s limits, what he will tolerate, what he can live with. Kuroo can stop a bad idea before it’s taken flight with just a shake of his head and a stern look, and he’s done it on more than one occasion to keep Bokuto in check. 

Daichi has to wonder when Kuroo learned to read him so well. When he learned to sense the apprehension in Daichi’s feet, the anxiety in his fingers, the curiosity in his jaw. Even when he doesn’t react in a way that puts Daichi at ease, it’s clear that he knows. 

For all the studying he’s done of Kuroo in return, he’s still difficult to read. He’s gotten better at guessing what Kuroo is feeling, but he still flounders when he tries to predict reactions. 

“Have you two decided where you’re going to university?” he manages to ask during a session of playful practice. None of them are playing seriously; the way Daichi bends to receive the ball is loose and familiar. It comes over Kuroo’s head, and he sets it to Bokuto easily. 

“I haven’t decided. I’ve gotten scouted a ton though, it’s hard to choose,” Bokuto says with no lack of pride. He bumps it back to Daichi. His wry smile is echoed by Kuroo’s snickers. 

“You brag a lot, but I bet it’s cause you forgot how to apply,” Kuroo teases. He picks up the ball from Daichi. 

Bokuto shouts at him, and gets distracted enough that when he tries to set the ball Kuroo sends at him, he only flounders to get it out of his face. Kuroo’s snickering turns to guffaws. 

“Well,” Daichi coughs out when the laughter dies down and Bokuto runs to get the ball, “I got accepted to Tokyo University.” 

Kuroo’s eyes widen. “Really now? I didn’t even know you applied.” 

He shrugs, one hand making it’s way to scratch at the back of his head. “I really wasn’t sure whether I’d get in, so I didn’t want to - y’know, wanna raise any hopes or whatever.” 

Bokuto comes charging back. “That’s awesome! You and Kuroo are gonna go to the same university, huh? Gonna join the team together?” 

Daichi blinks at him. “Wait, really?” 

Kuroo jams his hands in his shorts awkwardly; there are no pockets. “Got my letter a week ago. How about it? Teammates?” He says cheerfully. Daichi’s heart skips so hard it hurts. 

“Yeah,” he says a little breathlessly. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Let’s kick Bokuto’s ass,” Kuroo says. When Bokuto protests, it earns him another ball to the face.  


iv. fight or a flight of stairs

There is no working elevator in Daichi’s brand-new vintage apartment. At least, that’s what Kuroo calls it - the term Daichi uses is “affordable piece of shit.” 

The stairs have scuff marks on every step, and there are ten with green crayon marked like grass stains. He’s seen the kid a floor below him get scolded out of the eleventh, and he can’t help the soft quirk of his lips when he thinks of it. 

His apartment feels like a threadbare blanket in winter. The floor resembles plywood, and it is bare of everything but a few pieces of thrifted furniture - a four-person couch from the eighties, a too-deep loveseat with a stain on the arm and ornate symbols in the wood, a blue plaid futon big enough for the whole room, wobbly kitchen chairs ready to break under too much weight. The only few decent things he has is a brand new rice cooker and his kitchen table that his uncle built for him, cherry wood without a dent on it. He spends most of his time at it; it is his oasis from Tokyo. 

Kuroo spends most of his time there, too, even though he has his own tiny table in his dorm at the university. He nudges his feet against Daichi’s (purposefully - there’s enough legroom for the two of them) and puts his elbows where Daichi wouldn’t dare at home, and eats all of Daichi’s food. He’s particularly good at the last one. 

“Aww, cooking for me Sawamura?” he says, preening as he enters the one-room apartment. Daichi scoffs as he returns to the stovetop from opening the door. 

“I should start cooking at odd hours so you can’t time your visits,” he replies pointedly. His glare is too warm, though, and Kuroo only pretends to be wounded, a fake pout flashing over his face. 

“Who will feed me then?” he asks before draping himself over Daichi’s counter. He glances into the pan. “Oo, looks good. Hope there’s enough for me.” 

Daichi snorts, but there is. He’s been making extra ever since the third time Kuroo dropped by, a little out of courtesy and a little out of his crush. 

“There’s enough if you don’t mind eating in a rush,” he says, clicking off the stovetop. “Aren’t you here to get me for practice?” 

Kuroo starts a little. “Right. Practice. Uh, yeah. Sure.” 

Daichi raises an eyebrow at him before reaching into a cupboard for plates. Kuroo laughs a little awkwardly. “Okay I kind of forgot about practice. I just wanted to see you.” 

Daichi swallows down his heart and rubs his sweaty palm on the backs of his hands. “Well,” he says stiffly. He inwardly winces as he loads the plates with makeshift yakisoba, “I guess it’s not too surprising that your stomach speaks louder than volleyball.” 

“Food’s just a side benefit,” Kuroo says playfully, but when Daichi turns to look at him his eyes are serious. He hands him a plate wordlessly. Kuroo hands him chopsticks with a smile. He shovels down his food so fast he’s worried he’ll choke, and practically races Kuroo down the stairs out of the building. Kuroo manages a quick remark about how the stairs have character through the breathlessness.  


v. bedknobs and broomsticks

Daichi’s lungs threaten to collapse, not from lack of air but from the tightness of his ribs as Kuroo’s hands glide over them. His touch is late afternoon fog, heavy and soft and moist against Daichi’s overheated skin. His lips follow his hands closely; they brush over every bump, every scar, every dip and rise. He tongues at the hollow of Daichi’s hipbones, at the hollow of his throat, into his mouth. He still smells of sleep, tastes of it, but Daichi is more concerned with burning through the heady haze over them, grasping at Kuroo’s arms, the back of his shoulders, pulling and pulling and pulling him down into himself. 

The rain on the window is too loud. It rings in his ears, and Daichi tries to replace it with the soft puffs of air from Kuroo, the slow exhales, the sound of his lips when they pull the sound of his heartbeat from him. The rain cuts through it all, washing away Kuroo’s misty form. Daichi’s eyes squint open. 

The rain is, in fact, the alarm on his phone telling him his nap is over and that he has class. Briefly, he wishes that it was a real clock so he could give it a good smack.  


vi. heavy summer haze (or, mounties)

Summer in Tokyo is all heat. 

It brings Kuroo to his apartment in running shorts and thready tank tops ridden up over his stomach. It brings the whirring of a big fan to block out the slow pound of his blood. It brings Kuroo’s hands into his own and his mouth on his and his breathless laughter into his ears. It brings tangled limbs and the sweat of summer layered under the sweat of sex. It brings popsicles into his cramped fridge freezer so they can drip onto tongues and hands. Daichi thinks about kissing the flavour out of him, sucking the drips from his fingers. He watches Kuroo do it to himself until he works up the courage. 

Kuroo sprawls himself over his floor and only moves when Daichi complains about the heat. He likes to throw a limb over a him - a leg, an arm. Sometimes, he rests his head on his stomach. Daichi stops complaining and lets him. 

They watch their friends go places for vacation of the screens of their phones. Kuroo always remarks that they should do something - “Anything,” he says, “even go out to take pics and pretend we’re doing something other than this.” Then he moves closer to Daichi and won’t budge until his stomach protests enough for them to put on real clothes for takeout. There is nothing Daichi would rather be doing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mounties](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673556) by [notebookthief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebookthief/pseuds/notebookthief)




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